


mourn with my arms burning under your hands

by orphan_account



Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Genderbending, Mental Health Issues, Non-Linear Narrative, Point Of View Switch, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Recovery, Slow Burn, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-03-26 06:18:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13851837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Prompt: HashiMada with Fem!Mada.Madara is the mother of twins Obiko and Obito, with Obiko being the eldest and the heir because the Uchiha don’t care about genders contrary to popular belief. If the firstborn is a female then she is the heir. The twins love their mother deeply but always wonder why don’t they look like their (step)father, Hikaku. Their father is Hashirama, who has no idea of their existence. They were born under horrible circumstances but their mother loves them.





	1. present

**Author's Note:**

> For arissamuuchiha // Will update every week, can't say exactly which days.

Obito’s fingers are intertwined with Obiko’s thin ones, their hands clenched together, sweat beading down their forehead. They’re behind Madara, who is in front of a food stall selling Imagawayaki. Their mother is staring at the rising dough of the sweet, with a crease in between her eyebrow, her arms crossed.

Madara  _feels_ , more than hears, Hashirama turning the corner leading to the food stalls, with Mito’s arm hooked in the crook of his elbow.

He says, “Madara!” His face lighting up once they make eye contact, pulling Mito towards Madara and her kids. Mito’s lips form a small smile as the twins stare at her, behind their black bangs, stuck to their forehead.

Madara clenches one of her hands, feeling her nails biting into her palm, before she relaxes. “Hashirama,” she greets, voice smooth. Then. “Mito.”

“How are you all?”

The wind snakes Madara’s hair all over her face. She breathes in, uncrossing her arms, her chest expanding with the different aromas in the air. Seared pork. Fish. Sugars. The village people laugh, and joke, around them.

“We’re fine.” Madara breathes out.

Hashirama’s lips part to speak. The man behind the food stall cuts him off. “Here you go, two Imagawayaki’s, for the little ones.”

Obito pulls his hand out of Obiko’s grasp. His eyes begin sparkling, his legs bouncing back and forth. Madara takes the dessert wrapped in wax paper, handing them to the twins.

“Don’t make a mess,” she warns.

Obiko frowns. “We’re already sweaty and covered in dirt, you know.”

Hashirama coughs deep in his throat, his broad figure shaking. Mito gives him a little shove, with her bony shoulder, a strand of her red hair falling from her bundled hair. Mito continues smiling, her face radiant, toned in soft oranges from the hanging paper lanterns on top of them.

“It’s always nice to see you three. Are you here by yourselves?” Mito ponders.

A family passes by them, their kids giggling and squealing under their breaths. “No,” Madara says. She looks down at the twins, her hair falling over the side of her face. Obito has a flush on his cheeks, his lips moving around the treat he’s chewing, while Obiko takes small bites out of hers, the apple of her cheeks shining with sweat.

She looks back up at Hashirama and Mito, expression neutral. “Hikaku met up with a man from the Yamanaka clan before we got here. He said he’d meet us by the Nozomi River, to see the fireworks. But they,” she points at her kids, “wanted to stop by for some food before we made our way over there.”

Madara cuts Hashirama off from inviting himself, and Mito, with them, once she recognizes the man is going to speak up — from the way his eyebrows inch up, the minuscule lolling of his head to the side, the crinkle in the corner of his eyes.

“We have to get going.”

x

Madara feels a shiver momentarily run down her skin, as Hikaku rubs his thumb over her marred knuckles. The air is humid and thick with its shallow breeze. Both Obito and Obiko, have their shoulders hunched, back curved outwards as they lean down, staring at two frogs croaking in the mud, their knees covered in moss, grain, and dirt.

Hikaku’s voice is smooth and ever-loving, as he hums at her side — speaking about his day. Their day. Their day tomorrow. Next week. Next month.

There’s a gentle smile stretching Hikaku’s lips, Madara can’t match with her own cracked ones. There’s no tranquility, but she allows herself to fantasize there’s an ever growing flap of wings in momentum purifying her soul, as she looks at her twins.

The frogs croak and jump away. Obito gasps, and Obiko sits back on her behind. Madara pats the spots next to her on the grass. “Sit down over here. The fireworks are about to start any second now.”

A dancing breeze cools the trickling sweat rolling down Madara’s temple. There’s a present clicking of cicadas in the air, children screeching in belly deep laughter followed by yelping behind them. It’s summer. They’re celebrating the first treaty between the Land of Fire and Land of Wind, and the welcoming visitation of two Feudal Lords into their village.

Madara’s fingers twitch under Hikaku’s. She worries her lip as another wave of squeals reverberate through her ears and down her toes. There’s a sharp twist inside of Madara as the first firework goes off in sparks of pink and orange hues. The crack of it makes Obiko and Obito looks up at the night sky, glowing in flickers.

Hikaku picks her hand up, placing it on his lap. His lithe fingers begin massaging her palm. She grunts.

“I’ve been meeting up with the Yamanaka clan, for a while now.” He says, voice careful.

Madara closes her eyes. For a moment there’s nothing.

Blank.

Perspiration mouths under her breasts, and she can hear the amazement in the children’s voices around them. In Obito’s voice. How Obiko represses hers, but as another wave of fireworks claps in the sky, she makes a soft noises in her throat.

The trees rustle.

“Oh?” Madara murmurs, blinking her eyes open. Another firework goes off, in blues, greens, and purples.

Hikaku turns her hand around and begins massaging the top of her hand, his fingers rubbing her thin bones.

“The clan leaders grand-daughter, Kotono, has been rousing the medical bay as of late. She speaks of the well ness of the mind. Yamanaka Clan members have been sent out to question active, or past, shinobi and kunoichi, on the after math of traumatic experiences they’ve faced.”

Madara feels heat sink into her neck and spread up her face, her mouth feeling dry.

“Kotono wants to oversee the new ward that might open up in the hospital, pertaining the healing of the mind.” Hikaku finishes, his eyes trained on the flying sparks.

Madara’s hair flutters with the wind, whispering in her ears. There’s a vibration going up her fingertips all the way to her shoulders. She feels a bug crawling up her foot. She sees Obito wiggle his toes, as his eyes quickly move over the sky. She sees Obiko’s head cock to the side, her hair flopping over her shoulders.

Madara tilts her head back, her hair touching the grass and rubbing over her shoulder blades. Her eyes fixate on the stretched out sky, empty of anything but the pulsing glimmers, exploding in every direction. 

She says, “Oh," with Hikaku's fingers pressing into hers.


	2. past

There’s twigs, mainly stems, stabbing into her back as she lays in the middle of the forest floor, trees looming over her, with their leaves rustling along with the wind, shadowing her face in patterns, and obscuring the sun beaming brightly up in the sky.

She remembers the sky's lovely shade of lavender and orchid, the day before. But that’s not really what she wants to focus on. Madara breathes in the earth. She takes in a deep breath, her fingers digging into the dirt, and turns her head sideways. Her cheeks rests on her hair. A bug gently crawls up her ankle.

Madara hears the hushed whispers of the chirping birds and crunching twigs under roaming deer.

She digs her fingers out of the earth, her nails stained with dirt.

Madara breathes in.

She remembers Izuna’s gaze fixed upon the moon, the day before. Brilliant and so vast, Izuna spoke of lavishing in the touches of the stars above them, as they tingled his fingers with the _need_ to touch.

Madara thinks, _I’m allowed to love my brother_. _He’s my family, and he's precious to me_. Madara’s bones tremble as she thinks, _if I learned to love Izuna._ _I can love them_. Her hand moves towards her pregnant belly. _I will love them_. _I can love them_. _I can_. 

The wind picks up, and a scatter of leaves sway down towards the ground. For a second Madara’s fingers clench, jaw tightening. The trees rustle. She relaxes, her gaze stuck on a branch with a fluttering butterfly.

Madara thinks of Izuna, the day before. Her younger brother, with his rosy cheeks and sweaty palms, as he excitedly spoke of touching a doe. And Madara knows, as the butterfly flaps its wings, that she wants them, her _own_ kids, to feel the peaceful, and untangled world — the one void of tarnish — the one filled with the hope, Izuna unknowingly presents to her.

Madara looks up at the sky and remembers a time, where her and Hashirama are both thirteen, and they’d sat on top of a tree branch looking down at the ground enveloped in bluebells. Fleetingly, she had thought she’d seen them pulse in a serene glow.

Hashirama had looked at her, with his heated skin, and gleaming eyes, lower lip in between his teeth to stop his twinkling smile, because _he’d_ done that — had spurted a ring around the tree they’d been perched on, and Madara had felt teeth sink into her heart and lungs because Madara knows she loves him.

So, she had relished that moment with a smile painting her face. 

Madara breathes in, her fingers flexing on top of her belly, as a leaf falls next to her shoulder.

They weren't at peace, back then, when they were both thirteen. Nor are they at peace right now, years later, with so much change, between her and Hashirama. But she's allowed this moments of tranquility, and isolation, hidden in between the trees. Yet here, Madara's allowed to think, and reconcile with herself.


	3. present

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **CREDIT GOES TO:** DeviantArt user FireEagleSpirit, for their OC Senju Akane (mother to the Senju brothers) and Uchiha Midori (mother to Izuna and Madara).

Three days after Konoha’s celebration, Hashirama pats Obito’s back before giving him a gentle shove towards the door of the Hokage office. Obito stumbles over his feet, muttering under his breath as he opens the wooden door, a furrow in between his eyebrows.

“See,” Hashirama says observing the room. Obito unhunches his shoulders, padding towards the window behind Hashirama’s desk, overlooking the village. He places his forehead against it, cooling his forehead, and rubbing his sweat on it. “I told you, Tobirama wasn’t here.”

Obito moves away from the window, leaving a stain on it. He turns around to face Hashirama, a slight smile on his lips, his eyes looking up at Hashirama.

Hashirama’s lips curl, his head cocking to the side. He places his hand over Obito’s head. “Go ahead, I put your journal on top of the books at the very bottom, of my bookcase.”

Obito’s teeth poke out from under his widening grin, pulling himself from under Hashirama’s hand to rush for his journal.

Obito lays down on his stomach once he has his journal back. He places it in front of him, his fingers opening it, and un-creasing the pages, staining the tips of his fingers with smudged ink. “You know,” Obito says, swishing his feet in the air. “Don’t tell mom about this, but me and Obiko have been training in the forest lately.”

Hashirama’s eyes widen as he sits on his chair. “Oh?”

Obito’s voice grows rapidly loud as he speaks. “Yeah! And she’s really good also. We’ve sort been nagging dad about finding us an instructor, but he doesn’t want to. Says it’s not his say, we should ask mom. But, we did! At least I did. Obiko said mom wouldn’t allow it. I don’t know why.” Obito flips the page. “I don’t know why she gets all defensive when we bring it up, Obiko’s the next clan head, you know. She needs to learn how to fight soon enough.”

Hashirama rubs his fingers over a strand of his hair, his eyes on Obito who keeps on swishing his feet, his head occasionally moving as he reads the notes in his journal, on ninjutsu. Hashirama grabs one of the stacks of papers to flip through them. His’s voice is calm, when he speaks. “A few weeks ago, you offhandedly mentioned one of your uncles had taught you both chakra control. How are you and Obiko doing on that?”

Obito’s heart races, for a few minutes. He tries to breathe in slowly, his face heating up, and palms growing clammy because Hashirama is talking about Izuna, even if he doesn't know Obito meant him. “Uh. Well, yeah, that was a long time ago. I think we were both five back then. We’re both ten, now, so, we’re doing good. We never stopped practicing.” Obito pulls on the cracked skin of his lip.

Hashirama grabs his pen, the sound of it gliding against the paper swimming through the quite room. “Of course, not.” He huffs. “Madara isn’t going to be very happy, but we can go by down the river later. I can you teach you a few things, hopefully.”

Obito scrambles to sit up, his eyes blown wide and blinking up at Hashirama. “Really?”

Hashirama tilts his head, his eyes soft. “Yes, if you promise to stop worrying Madara about getting you both trained. I don’t think she’s too fond of the idea, of you both growing up.”

Obito raspberries. “Whatever.”

x

Madara considers this: she isn’t happy. Not exactly.

She thinks, _I’m along the lines of paranoia_. Sometimes, she’s the embodiment of delusions, unwanted visions, sensations, and whispers that cares gently at her marred skin, lips, and ringing ears. They’re effective in entrancing her into a void of pure endurance.

Suffering.

Sometimes, she’s stripped of her humanity and social contact. Day by day — even seconds, and minutes — there’s a bile inducing whisper that resembles the scrape of broken nails on chalkboard. Madara knows paranoia. She knows the slump she gets pulled into, better than any intimate memory.

 _I am_ , she thinks, _quite literally a mess_ , as she sits outside on the engawa, in the middle of the night. Her hair is still picked up in the bun she fell asleep in. Strands of her hair flutter against her nape or rub against her cheek as the breeze picks up, her eyes are trained on the pond up ahead, with positioned stones around it.

She can be happy, Madara knows this. Yet, she neglects it in favor of the never-ending cycle of coming up a smooth mountain, only to find a bump in the middle, and every step after it, sending her tumbling down. Except, she doesn’t tumble down. She won’t allow herself this small mercy.

She came to know the mindset of rage, rage, rage, rage, rage, rage, rage, in a second, long ago. She’s come to experience the spectrum of having drowned in thick, sticky, mud after millenniums, and finally taking a deep un-soiled breath, only to recoil away out of discomfort, and plunging back into darkness. Because there's more comfort in a place you've spent half your life time in.

A cricket chirps from somewhere in the azalea’s in her garden, followed by a door sliding inside her house, and she knows it’s Hikaku contemplating whether he should join her or not.

She remembers the rage, and muddled desire, for the deaths of those she once loved and cherished the most, out of fear, long ago. Madara had a putrid loath towards those around her, and there’s times, like today, where she wonders where it would have lead her, had she not become pregnant.

Now she un-knowingly seeks embraces and comfort, she will never allow herself to truly request. So, she’s learnt to deal with what Hikaku gives her — what she’s comfortable with Hashirama giving her — the embraces Obito and Obiko have gifted her with.

Madara knows she’s more than the separation of her mind and thoughts from her reality.

But, Madara once asked her mother what happiness was, a few days after being told she was pregnant. The words spilled from her raw, broken and lips, where tears and snot had mixed together.

And Midori had said, _happiness is not about living a satisfied life_. _I can tell you as much as you want about becoming happy, but it will never induce the feeling into you_. _No, that’d be too much of a mercy_. _You’ll find happiness in moments, you won’t even be looking out for_.

And to Madara’s surprise, she’s learned to cautiously look for what her mother spoke of. They are some of the most minuscule moments in her life, Madara selfishly wants nothing more than to bottle, and treasure for an eternity.  

She found happiness at night, in the library they had been building in the middle of the village. It’s where she had been revising paperwork, and Hashirama was there with her since he wanted to check out a book by Mahiro Hōki, a member of one the many clan’s in their village, because he’d been meaning to freshen up his knowledge on healing properties.

She found a deranged sense of happiness, when it was closing in on midnight when her and Hikaku were both on the outskirt of the village, eating at a bar, as a civilian in his fifties, hit down his bachi on his shamisen, filling the air with wordless tunes. A plate of sashimi, karaage, and gome-ae, sided with sake and water had sat on their booth.

It’s when there was no longer anyone there, except her and Hikaku along with the workers, and that old man with patches of grey, cropped hair, askew glasses hiding his eyes, who was sitting outside the bar on the farthest coroner, with a flask at his side. And Hikaku, with his oil slicked forehead, and heated cheeks, had tipsily asked Madara, in a wavering tone, for a dance after the civilian began playing another tune.

Madara hadn’t complained, though. She'd only felt warmth bloom in her chest, and tingle her fingertips, at that moment. Because it was seeing Hikaku rather foolishly shake his legs, for someone who worries sick about being put on the spotlight, in front of Madara.

She guesses, as another breeze rustles her hair, happiness is when Hikaku had grabbed her arm, and started making her dance along with him. Madara, yet again, realizes how much she appreciates her friend. Husband.

It’s waking up in the early morning, everyday, and already finding a note from Obito and Obiko saying, ‘Good Morning! We’ll be around the playground, if you need us. We love you. Take care!’

It’s slowly easing her way into a friendship with Mito and meeting her for breakfast and heading down to her little studio, where she spilled ink, sliding brushes against scrolls in creation of seals — Where Mito let Madara hang her inner thoughts on her walls. It’s making each other laugh listening to Mito’s birds chirp from the room next door.

It’s taking Obito and Obiko, out around the village, or having them sleep in her bed, on her sides, where she occasionally, silently, murmured stories.

A moment of happiness had been, when Hashirama rubbed circles with his thumb on her hand, while Madara chewed on her cheek, and laid her head against her best friend’s shoulder.

It’s learning to adapt with the knowledge there’s good in her life.

Madara has learned to become more attentive of every moment of her life. She knows she once feared abandonment and isolation, long ago. Maybe even now. She also knows how easily another war can break out, with the twins in the middle of it, and her in the front lines.

As Madara breathes in deeply, closing her eyes, the thought makes her want to dislocate herself from everything, anything, and everyone.

So, Madara takes the ribbon holding her hair up, off spilling her hair over her back until it rubs against the engawa. She looks up at the half moon, tinged yellow with scattered stars around it. She breathes in through her mouth, lips becoming dry. She breathes out through her nose, chest deflating.

Madara pushes herself up, exhausted, and slides back into her house with swollen eyes.

x

Obito has a scowl on his face as he barges into the room Madara has acclaimed as her work space. His lips are pinched upwards, eyes facing the corner of the room, with his arms crossed tightly.

Madara sighs, rolling her eyes. Obito sniffs, tipping his head upwards. Madara places her brush on her smudged paper. “What did Obiko do now?”

Obito strides towards the futon she keeps in her office. Obito hastily throws himself on it, laying on his stomach, and shoving his head in his crossed arms.

Madara hears him sniff again. She rubs her inked hand through her hair, pulling on a knot, making her nose wrinkle. “Obito?”

“What.”

“What did Obiko do?”

“She,” he sniffs, voice faltering. “She broke our matching bracelets.”

Madara’s eyebrows lift, she grabs the end of her brush, and begins rubbing her thumb over it. “Why would she do that?”

Obito wiggles around, tuning his face sideways and facing the moss green wall, where he can breathe better. “Well, yesterday I spent my afternoon with Hashirama, right?”

Madara nods, then sounds a hum when Obito keeps quiet, her eyes fixed on his shoulders.

Obito breathes heavily in through his mouth. “I don’t know why she was being super mean when I got back, dad even told her to stop being rude yesterday. And then today all morning, too . She also kept on saying this comments about how,” he pauses. He squeezes his hands, feeling his pulse beat. Obito’s voice stammers out. “She said I was being stupid about wanting to become Hokage, and for hanging around Hashirama so much. Then when we were coming back from the forest, this morning, I sort of mentioned how Hashirama isn’t all that bad, I mean he even made us our matching bracelets, they’re made from wood.”

Madara lips part.

“And. And,” Obito muffles out. “You should have seen her! She yanked her bracelet off and tore it apart like it was nothing! She even tried ripping mine off, but I told her to stop, and she kind of did. I don’t know what to do.”

Madara moves her paperwork away, rising and padding towards Obito. She sits down by his feet, picking them up to lay onto her lap. She rubs her cold fingers over his bony ankle.

“Well, I’m sure there’s a reason. You now how she can be sometimes, don’t let it get you.” She gives Obito’s ankle a squeeze. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Hashirama lately, maybe that’s why.”

“No! It’s not that.” He grumbles. “Yeah, she’s not so fond of him, but she tolerates Hashirama, you know. He’s never done anything bad to us, so she’s okay with him. But today, today it’s like she _hated_ him.”

Obito huffs. “I’m going to take a nap. Maybe by the time I wake up again, she'll realize how dumb she's being.”

Madara leans her head back, thumping it on the wall. “I’ll talk to Obiko later, don’t worry about it, okay?”

Obito drones out a low sound in response. Madara stares at the wooden ceiling, her fingers digging into Obito’s calf.


	4. present

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i) that dream will make sense one day  
> ii) ao3's being a little bitch so idk when this will post

Madara wakes up and stares at her ceiling, feet freezing, skin damp. Her chest rose in shallow breaths, fingers twitching at her side.

Hikaku snores next to her, his hand under her pillow. His heavy breathing hot on her shoulder.

She stares at her ceiling blinking in the darkness. 

There’s roots gnawing on her ankles, ripping into her wrists and curling around her thighs. _Squeezing._

She blinks, breath stuttering, finger digging into her sheets.

 _It was just a dream_ , she reminds herself. _Just a dream_.

Madara brings her hand to her chest, pushing her palm over her beating heart, feeling it thump thump thump under her palm.

Hikaku’s leg rubs against her knee making her suck in air. Madara lays there for an hour, shoulders tense, her nostrils flaring occasionally. She mutters into the darkness, “I guess this is how my day will go.”

x

Hashirama wants to talk her, that’s what Tobirama says when she passes by him in the village, with Mito at his side, her red hair braided loosely over her shoulder.

Mito had smiled at her, mouth opening in a greeting before Tobirama noticed Madara’s rigid posture in his presence before dragging himself and Mito away.

So, now she’s sitting inside a small restaurant with a small cup of tea on the table, steam curling above it, and her eyes fixed on the cracks on the floor.

Her eyes peel away from the ground as Hashirama’s laughter rings through the room, announcing his presence, his hand waving in the air as an employee greets him.

Madara curls her hands around the warm cup, bringing it towards her raw lips. She takes a sip, the sweet liquid heating her insides. She doesn’t release it, when Hashirama makes his way towards her, a smile on his face, and he sits in front of her.

A sighs spills from his lips. “I’m so exhausted.” He places his elbows on top of the table, his chin resting on his palms, his back hunched. Hashirama blinks at her, his face relaxed. She stares right back, her hands warm and clammy.

She takes a drawn-out drink from her tea, an itch forming on her foot.

Hashirama tilts his head. “Is it good?”

Madara places the cup on the table with an audible click. “Yes.”

Hashirama smiles. “That’s great. I think I’ll get one to go, maybe I’ll even get one for Tobirama and Mito, too.” Hashirama postures deflates even further, his lips pursing lightly. He closes his eyes, humming. “There’s a lot of things going on, I think I won’t be sleeping for the next few days.”

Madara’s eyes trace his cupids bow, mind buzzing. She looks down at her hands resting on her lap — at her bony fingers, marred knuckles, and the pale raised marks surrounding her wrist. Hashirama’s staring at her, when she looks back up, his cheek squished against his palm.

“What do you want, Hashirama?”

“Mm. Oh, yeah.” He raises into a straight posture, his back popping along the way. He groans, before slouching again. “I’ve been thinking about teaching Obito. I’ve been instructing him for a while now, maybe a week and a half at best, and yes, I know I’ve been putting this conversation off. But, you see, I think he has great protentional to be Hokage one day, so he says.” He sucks in a breath, releasing it slowly. He leans his head back, his eyes crinkling fondly. “He’s real enthusiastic about that, do you know? And the Academy should be up and running by next year. But you already know that, since I haven’t been so subtle about convincing you to take up a post as a teacher. I think you’d be great.”

Madara picks at a loose tread on her sleeve, registering the clinking of cups, plates, and voices of every other family around them. She doesn’t want to me any where near Hashirama today, yet here she is.

“It’s not that I don’t want them to—” Madara cuts herself off, feeling _drained_ for the third time in the morning since she woke up, with the sensation of roots clinging to her skin.

Hashirama's eyebrows furrow. He looks down at the table. “I know.” He says, plucking strands of his hair to wrap around his finger. “I know why you don’t want them anywhere near a weapon, or fight. I can understand that. No child deserves to see what saw when we their age.” He reaches out his hand across the table to touch Madara’s arm, but she flinches back. Hashirama’s face contorts for a second, before he pulls his arm back, pretending he didn’t see anything. “They are not going to war, Madara. And they will be nowhere near an official fight against an enemy until they’re the proper age.”

“You know it’s not that simple.” Madara snaps, her lips pulled back.

Hashirama nods, his hair rubbing against his neck. “Maybe. Maybe I’m right, maybe I’m wrong. But I’m allowed to have believes, and I think they’re correct.”

Madara crosses her legs under the table. She wants this conversation to be over. “Fine,” she says flatly. “But you have to join my lessons with the kids concerning my falcons.”

Hashirama’s face lights up, a smile radiating on his face, before he remembers the last time he tried being around Madara and her falcons, he ended up with a chunk of his hair missing.

“Well that just isn’t fair.” He says glumly, leaning down to place his cheek against the table, his hair pools around him.

Madara’s lip twitches, a laugh bubbling up her in her chest. She looks down at his forehead, covered by strands of his hair. Madara flexes her fingers.

She breathes in, reaching out to pick up a piece of his hair. “I honestly don’t understand why your hair’s always been so soft.”

Madara snorts. “What about yours.”

“Mine gets messy, and greasy easily.”

“I wonder why.”

Madara pulls his hair roughly, sending a sting through Hashirama’s scalp. Hashirama hastily rises, taking his hair back, with his mouth curved down.

Madara holds her chin high. “What?”

Hashirama sniffs, his features drooping. “And here I thought we were being civil.”

Madara laughs, startling herself. Hashirama’s own eyes widen. She looks down at the cup on the table, holding barely any red liquid in it.

“I think I should go,” she says, pushing her seat back to get up.

“Aren’t you going to pay?”

Madara tucks her seat back in, standing behind it. “I already did.” She pauses. Madara attempts to smile at Hashirama, it makes her cheek jerk. “I’ll see you some other time.”

x

Madara lets her shoulders uncoil as the air rustles through her hair, and flutters her clothes on her way back home.


End file.
